


Alternating Beginnings

by aurilly



Category: Heroes (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-20
Updated: 2009-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/pseuds/aurilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar gets a new start, of sorts, with Mohinder. It's time for soapy amnesia!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternating Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in a post-season 2 AU.

Sylar sat in the waiting room all day every day for two days and refused to make eye contact with anyone. The last thing he needed was a comforting platitude from some clucking woman. The nurses didn't know who he was, but they knew what he was there for.

He tried not to ask himself why he was here, why he came every day. Part of the reason was because he didn't want to admit how little he actually had to do. For all his posturing and talk of destiny, Sylar's day-to-day life was sorely lacking in structure, and after all these months, the instability was becoming wearisome. Here was a purpose that he could devote himself to as obsessively as he had once devoted himself to watches and more recently to power acquisition.

When he came in on the third day to take his usual seat, one of the nurses approached him. "He's awake."

Sylar wasn't sure what to feel. He was relieved, to be sure, but now things had become complicated again. The dichotomy between what he was doing and what made sense had now presented itself. He could not, with any good judgment, go in to see Mohinder as this woman most likely expected. But how was he to extricate himself from the waiting room without prompting all sorts of uncomfortable questions?

"When?" he asked.

"Last night."

In addition to all the practical reasons to worry (such as the more than likely possibility of Mohinder making a scene in the hospital), a strange sort of disappointment tugged at the edges of Sylar's mind; now, even _this_ project, this purpose and sense of rhythm and occupation, had come to an end.

"That's… wonderful," he said distantly.

"For someone who's been pulling the kind of hours you have, you don't sound very excited."

"I am, believe me. How is he?"

Then, her features changed, and that's when Sylar knew something was wrong. "Well… can we sit down somewhere?"

Sylar broke into a sweat as she pulled him gently down the hallway into an empty office. He couldn't imagine how Mohinder could have woken up but still cause this kind of concern.

"What is it?" he asked once she had sat him down.

The nurse leaned towards him and said, "He's much better now. He's recovered enough from his injuries to go home. However…"

"Just tell me," Sylar snapped impatiently.

"He has amnesia."

"_What?_" Things like that didn't _actually_ happen. But the nurse was nodding sadly.

"I know. It's hard to understand, but he has no idea what he's doing here."

"So you're telling me he has no idea who he is?" Sylar scoffed, thinking of stupid movies he had watched in his youth.

She laughed. "No, it isn't quite as bad as that, thank goodness. He just can't remember why he is in New York. He says the last thing he remembers is his father dying and making plans to come here and find out what happened. Do you when that was?"

"I do. It was over a year ago."

She was visibly disappointed at this news. "Oh dear. We'd been hoping it was only a few days."

"So, he won't remember me?" Sylar asked, not sure if he was devastated or pleased. This had the potential to create an interesting experience, if played correctly.

"Not if you didn't know him before he came to New York."

Sylar shook his head no.

"I'm so sorry," she soothed, patting his arm and having no idea that, in some ways, this could turn out to be less than a complete tragedy for Sylar. She continued to fret, and then remembered to ask, "Would you like to see him? I know you didn't want to before, but now that he's awake, maybe…"

"Absolutely," Sylar said firmly.

"There's nothing more we can do for him here. I'm sure his memory will return in time. And if it doesn't, people are usually able to get on with their lives again, even missing the information. Especially with someone as devoted as yourself to help him, I don't see why he can't---"

"Wait, you're saying you'd let him leave today with _me_?" It took a lot to stun Sylar, but this revelation did. A million gears began to spin in his head and his heart leaped to his throat. This was the sort of opportunity he never would even have imagined, and yet here it was. Sylar laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes.

The nurse eyed him suspiciously. "What's so funny?"

He realized that he was acting crazily, and might jeopardize his position. "Nothing. I'm just in shock. It's a lot to take in."

That was enough to pacify her, and they stood up and walked down the hallway. Sylar was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he barely even heard her instructions. "…so don't startle him. And I know it'll be hard to not get upset at the fact that he doesn't recognize you, but please try not to be frustrated with him," she finished just before stopping in front of a closed door. Sylar assumed this must be Mohinder's room.

"Why would I be frustrated with him?" Sylar asked.

She raised her eyebrows and whispered, "I don't mean to offend… but the other nurses and I had imagined him as this angel the whole time he was unconscious. He's so…"

"…pretty?" Sylar finished for her.

She blushed. "Exactly. But then he woke up, and… don't get me wrong, but… he's a lot more difficult than we expected him to be."

"Well, I see memory loss hasn't changed his base personality any," Sylar chuckled, and it was enough to embolden him as she opened the door.

Mohinder was sitting up in bed with his arms crossed, an apprehensive but petulant expression on his face that looked ridiculous against the backdrop of his light blue hospital robe. He eyed Sylar nervously. It was surreal. There was not even a hint of recognition in his eyes. It was as if they were back in Virginia Beach and Sylar was Zane Taylor all over again.

"Hi, Mohinder," the nursed greeted in a sugary-sweet voice. "Here is the friend I told you about. He just arrived."

Sylar walked towards the bed and Mohinder stretched his hand out.

"I'm Mohinder," he said politely. However, it was as if he'd just remembered his own condition, because he drew his hand back and added, "But I suppose you know that already, don't you?"

But Sylar grabbed the hand and pulled it back out to shake. "I'm… Gabriel?" It was strange saying his old name like that after so long, but it actually ran off his tongue a lot easier than he would have expected.

"You sound as unsure as I am," Mohinder snarked.

"I'll leave you two to talk, ok?" the nurse interjected. "And I'll bring you some juice in a few minutes."

"I don't want any juice," Mohinder snapped, and Sylar realized why the nurses had labeled him 'difficult.' They didn't realize that Mohinder was just being Mohinder.

"Okay," she soothed in a way that made it clear she would come with juice all the same.

As soon as she was gone and the door shut behind her, Mohinder sighed loudly. "I may have amnesia, but I'm not a bloody _child_."

"You're certainly acting like one," Sylar observed calmly, sitting on the edge of the bed. It was amazing, being with him like this, with all of Mohinder's aggression and negative feelings directed at people other than Sylar.

Mohinder scowled at being called out on his bad behavior by what he considered a stranger. "So, Gabriel… perhaps you can enlighten me as to who you are and what I'm missing out on in my life." Sylar could tell that Mohinder was purposefully trying to sound obnoxious, but his voice trembled, and he knew his difficult geneticist well enough to know that Mohinder was terrified. He had never been good at not being in control of a situation.

Sylar got up and said, "I'll tell you all about it on the way home. Come on. She says you're fine to go. Maybe we can get out of here before she gets back with your juice."

Mohinder smiled---the same kind of smile he had given Zane Taylor the first time he'd cracked a joke, and he looked at Sylar---_really_ looked at him for the first time, up and down with an appreciative squint. For so long, Mohinder had denied Sylar that kind of look, and his stomach grew warm.

Sylar was going to enjoy this.

Checking out was easy, and Sylar was given all sorts of literature to help him understand how to take care of Mohinder. He had no desire to play nurse, but at the same time, he wasn't about to refuse the most ironic twist of the century. And thankfully, there was nothing _too_ wrong with the man. There were just a few pills he needed to take a few times a day, and a need to ensure that Mohinder didn't relapse into a concussion. Sylar and Mohinder were quickly able to find a taxi, and it sped them towards Brooklyn.

Mohinder had been listening quietly to the doctors during the check-out process, so this was the first opportunity he'd had to really engage Sylar. "So, Gabriel, since we're… friends… I'd like you to fill me in on what I've forgotten."

Sylar decided to see exactly how much of the truth he could get away with. Interacting with Mohinder had always been a stimulating challenge, and even though Mohinder couldn't currently play along in the way he usually did, this was as close as they could get, and definitely something new. "Where would you like to start?"

"What about with my father's murder, since that is why I remember coming to this country. Did I ever discover who killed him?"

"You did," Sylar confessed seriously.

"Who was he?" demanded Mohinder with the same unrelenting urgency that had always simultaneously annoyed and drawn Sylar.

He thought for a moment. "Someone whom your father betrayed, and someone who betrayed your father. It was more complicated than you first realized."

"This is _murder_ we're talking about. My _father's_ murder. What on earth can be complicated about that?" Mohinder looked at Sylar with suspicion for the first time. It was yet another sign that although his memory was gone, Mohinder himself was still very much intact, as was his penchant for seeing the world in black and white.

"What happened?" Mohinder pressed, when Sylar said nothing. "Did I avenge his death?

"You drugged him, tied him up, put a gun to his head, and pulled the trigger," Sylar said emotionlessly, sublimating the rush of memories and emotions he was experiencing.

"Oh," Mohinder whispered, shocked at his own actions, and understandably not realizing that in this case, a follow-up question might have been in order.

"I didn't think you were capable of it, either," Sylar remarked honestly.

Mohinder was quiet for awhile, but then asked, "Then what? The way you talk about it makes it sound like it happened some time ago, and yet I'm still here in New York."

"Now you're a biology professor at Hunter College. But you're on winter break right now. You don't have to be back for another few weeks. Hopefully you'll be better by then and won't even have to tell them anything was amiss," Sylar told him blandly. He realized that he didn't mean the 'hopefully' at all. He was already enjoying himself hugely, and not just in a manipulative way. Sylar hadn't had this kind of easy-going conversation with anyone---much less _Mohinder_\---in longer than he could remember, and he realized that even after less than an hour, he was going to be loath to give this up. "And… it's a long story for another day, but before you got the job, you were mixed up with some bad company for awhile."

Mohinder looked even more crestfallen. "What kind of person have I become?" he mumbled under his breath.

Sylar reached over and covered Mohinder's hand with his own. "Don't worry. You haven't done anything inconsistent with your character, nothing you weren't already capable of. You always did the right thing."

Mohinder looked up to meet Sylar's gaze, and softened. "Thanks," he whispered. He bit his lip shyly and then asked, "And us? How did we meet?"

That was veering into dangerous territory, and Sylar hadn't yet formulated a plan for that. "Let's save it for when we get to your apartment, ok?"

Mohinder looked at him curiously, but didn't press. "Fine. So, I have a job. Do I have any other friends?"

Sylar knew that Mohinder had some acquaintances, but no close friends. And even if he had, Sylar wasn't about to let him contact anyone who could spoil the show. "No, not really. You're kind of a loner, not to mention a pain in the ass," he teased.

Mohinder was outraged for a moment, but then chuckled. "I guess you _do_ know me."

They soon arrived and fished the keys out of the little bag holding Mohinder's personal effects that the hospital had given. The apartment was dark and dust lay even more heavily in the air than usual. Sylar flipped a light switch and then went to turn on another lamp. Meanwhile, Mohinder walked around, touching things and inspecting the place for what might as well have been the first time.

"I live here?" he asked in distaste after poking his head into all the rooms.

Without even realizing what he was saying, Sylar answered, "It isn't fancy, but it's home."

That stopped Mohinder in his tracks. "Home? Do you live here, too?"

Sylar hadn't meant to imply that, but now that it was out there… this apartment _did_ feel like home. Still, he hadn't yet decided how far he wanted to take this game, and so tested the waters by asking, "Would you like that?"

"It isn't about what I would or wouldn't like. It's a simple fact, Gabriel," Mohinder complained sternly. "This is difficult enough for me without having the only person I seem to know play guessing games with me."

"You're right. I'm sorry. This… it's hard for me, too," Sylar said to cover up. "No, we don't live together."

And then Sylar thrilled because, just for a millisecond, Mohinder actually looked _disappointed_. But only for a millisecond. "I see."

They stood quietly in the apartment, simply staring at one another. The silence was broken when Mohinder finally said, "I'm hungry."

"Why don't you rest? I'll make you some pancakes," Sylar offered.

Mohinder took Sylar up on the offer. He sat down and lifted the cover of his laptop absentmindedly. "I didn't know I liked pancakes," he marveled.

"You didn't before, but you grew to appreciate them," Sylar explained as he deftly moved around the kitchen, locating all the necessary equipment and ingredients from the cabinets and the refrigerator. He could feel Mohinder's curious eyes watching him, and he knew Mohinder was thinking about how odd it was that this stranger knew his apartment better than himself. But Sylar had been doing a lot of talking recently, and was glad of a break to collect his thoughts. Soon, Mohinder stopped staring and became engrossed in the computer, reading the news and looking into his files.

"So, what do you do for a living?" Mohinder asked after awhile. "Whatever it is, it can't be too demanding, given that you haven't been going to work for the past few days."

"I'm between jobs right now."

"What did you do before?"

Sylar wondered if Mohinder had ever found out anything about this before the accident. Sylar had always hidden the information, but Mohinder might have read it in some sort of file. Either way, he now confessed, "I owned a watch shop. I repaired timepieces. It was a kind of family business."

"Why did you stop?"

"I wanted to do something more meaningful with my life. I was cut out for something much more special than sitting in a shop all day."

"Have you found what you were looking for?" Mohinder asked innocently.

Sylar paused to think, before answering truthfully, "Still looking."

Mohinder instinctively seemed to know not to pry further at the moment and went back to his reading. A few minutes later, when the pancakes were just about done, he whined, "How am I going to go back to work in February when I can't remember my own research? What if I've made interesting discoveries that I now know nothing about?"

"I can tell you about it," Sylar offered, handing Mohinder some utensils with which to set the table before dishing out breakfast. Sitting down across from him, Sylar told a flabbergasted Mohinder all about having continued his father's research, about having met the evolved humans, about Shanti, about the fact that Mohinder's blood was the only cure for a rare disease, about the various strains and cures he had found, and finally about having identified the genes responsible for special abilities.

"They really exist? I've actually _met_ them? All this time, I've wanted to believe in my father's theories, but part of me still dismissed them as silly pipe dreams. I never imagined that I would one day prove him right."

"And you've helped a lot of people," Sylar complimented. And then softly, he added, "You helped me."

Mohinder stopped mid-bite as the truth struck him. "You're one of them, aren't you?"

Sylar floated the box of orange juice to the table in response. Mohinder jumped out of his chair, knocking it over while Sylar nonchalantly continued to chew. It was an incredibly satisfying reaction, so full of the unmitigated awe that Sylar always craved but never received because he almost never had a chance to show off.

"Do that again," Mohinder begged. Still eating, but with a self-satisfied smile on his face, Sylar righted the overturned chair and gave Mohinder a gentle nudge to sit back down. "That's incredible," Mohinder breathed.

"You've always had a repressed power fetish," Sylar teased, finally able to remark on something he knew to be true about the other man, but which he normally would never be allowed to say without causing Mohinder to fly into a rage.

"I should think anyone would. How does it work, physically?" Mohinder begged.

"You know as well as I do," Sylar shrugged. "You figured it out a couple of months ago. I'll help you go through the thought processes again."

Sylar made a mental note to taunt Mohinder at some later date about the efficacies of stalking; if he hadn't consistently shown up in Mohinder's life and followed his movements, there would have been no one to get him from the hospital, no one to help him readjust to life, no one with the ability to explain his own science back to him in a way that only furthered it. And so, they spent the rest of the day talking about theories and science and genetics. It was an odd but amusing role reversal, but not a complete one, as Mohinder's faculties were still enough in evidence to put pieces together before Sylar had even presented them in the story. He even thought of some ideas that, as far as Sylar knew, had not yet come up in Mohinder's research.

And so, the day passed almost too quickly. Snacks were absent-mindedly consumed, and they moved from the table to the couch, to the hallway, to standing over the kitchen counter. Mohinder looked up at Sylar with shining eyes, and Sylar could almost see his brain whirring in excitement. It reminded him of why he'd been interested in the man in the first place; much as he liked the challenge of dealing with an antagonistic Mohinder, Sylar's constant yearning for his attention had originally stemmed from Mohinder's likability as a non-adversary.

Sooner that he expected or liked, they noticed that the sun had set and the clock read ten o'clock. Mohinder's eyes had started to close, and it was only through strength of will that he wasn't yawning. Sylar remembered that the man had been unconscious for the past few days; being awake for so long must have been quite exhausting. So, walked to the coat rack and said, "I should probably get going. You'll be alright for the rest of the night, I'm sure."

"You're leaving?" The frightened, petulant look from earlier came back as Sylar put his jacket on.

"You don't know me. Wouldn't it be weird for you to have me to stay overnight?" Sylar was projecting. The real issue was that it was weird for _him_.

"I'd actually prefer it to staying alone in this strange apartment. That is, if you don't mind."

"No. I don't mind." It was all Sylar could manage to choke out.

Mohinder grinned. "Thank you," he said, and strolled into the bedroom. Sylar wasn't sure if Mohinder's exit at that moment was meant to signal something, or if Mohinder was genuinely getting ready for bed without any ulterior motive. Sylar slowly shrugged his coat off and was hanging it up again when he heard Mohinder calling him from the bedroom.

"Gabriel, what is this?" Sylar followed the sound and stopped in the doorway when he saw Mohinder standing by the bureau and holding a photograph.

"What is what?"

Mohinder waved the picture around with a twitch of his lips. It showed himself and Sylar outside at night dressed in winter coats. Mohinder was grinning broadly and had his arm thrown tightly around Sylar, who was smiling more shyly, but just as happily.

"Where did you get that?" Sylar demanded.

Mohinder pointed to the open drawer. "It was behind the socks. Apparently, I like to look at you as I root through my underwear," he quipped. "I seem to have become a strange sort of romantic."

Sylar snatched it out of Mohinder's hands and gazed hungrily at the picture. "I can't believe he kept this," he said to himself.

"He who?"

Sylar shook himself out of his stupor. "You. Sorry. I never knew you had this."

Mohinder shrugged. "I don't see why not. It's a nice picture. When was it taken?"

Sylar stared at present-day Mohinder, then the Mohinder of the picture, then back again at Mohinder standing in front of him. There was an openness of expression in both incarnations of the man that had not been seen in the intervening period. And Sylar could feel his own shy smile creeping onto his face in a way that it also hadn't since those scant few days.

"We were on an expedition, trying to locate people with special abilities. We had just met. I---" Sylar hesitated. This was the first time he had ever confessed it aloud, and he was whispering, almost telling the story to himself rather than to Mohinder. "I invited myself to come along with you. I was so scared that you'd say no, but you didn't. You were excited to have me along. This was taken outside a gas station near Mitchell, South Dakota. We had just stopped to refill the tank and pick up snacks. You made fun of me for buying Skittles, but I made fun of you for having bought a disposable camera and some really bad beer---Milwaukee's Best. You didn't know better. You asked a truck driver to take a picture of us. You said it was to document this leg of our trip, for scientific records."

"I lied," Mohinder interjected. "I know myself too well. That was simply an excuse."

This brought a sad but hopeful smile to Sylar's lips. "You think so? I've always wondered. Anyway, after that, it was already getting late, so we stopped at the motel and…" He choked, and blushed, unsure of the appropriate way to continue.

"And then I got you tipsy and made a pass at you?"

"Are you sure you have amnesia?" Sylar asked in a panic when Mohinder hit exactly on the facts.

"I don't remember, but I wish I did. I just… I can just tell what I would have done in such a situation with someone like you. You have a very good memory," Mohinder murmured.

"Good thing one of us does," Sylar joked, trying to lighten the mood he himself had made so serious.

"We look very happy," Mohinder observed significantly, locking Sylar up in his gaze. Only then did Sylar realize how close they were standing. Mohinder was looking at him expectantly, and Sylar knew what he could do right then. He could do what he always did: take whatever he wanted, whatever he felt he deserved. Hell, it wouldn't even be taking in this situation, because Mohinder looked more than ready to give. But that was exactly the problem. This was too easy. Mohinder shouldn't have been so willing, so clueless. They'd done that once before. Sylar didn't want a repeat of the deception; he wanted Mohinder for real, and somehow, this situation didn't quite count.

He cleared his throat and stepped back. "I'm going to go shut the lights off out front," he said, and abruptly exited the bedroom, leaving Mohinder standing there, partially tipping forward, and in total confusion.

By the time he finished obsessively tidying up the living room and kitchen (he thought to himself that even in this ideal world, living with Mohinder was somewhat of a challenge, given the man's messy proclivities) and brushing his teeth, Mohinder had already crawled into bed and was lying stiffly on his back, looking up at the ceiling. Sylar took off his socks and pants and folded them carefully on a chair. He could see Mohinder's bare shoulder peeking over the top of the white sheets, but decided to keep his own tee-shirt on. He caught Mohinder sneaking a glance at his boxers as he climbed under the sheet, too, and heard a stifled gasp when he telekinetically flipped the light switch off.

They lay there, both stiff and silent, until Mohinder coughed. "I've been told that I have a tendency to thrash about in my sleep."

Sylar remembered this, but it had been easier to deal with when they'd lain naked and entwined---Sylar's legs had been able to control Mohinder's movements. Now that they weren't touching, he wasn't sure how it would go. Nevertheless, he replied, "It's fine. I steal covers."

"Oh," was Mohinder's awkward response. "Well… goodnight, Gabriel."

"Night," Sylar said, hoping that would be it. He could cut the awkwardness with a knife.

"Thank you for looking out for me," Mohinder mumbled as he turned over and rearranged himself into a proper position for sleeping.

Sylar didn't know how to respond without giving away too much, so he pretended that he was too sleepy to say anything. "Hm," he grunted.

Sylar spent the next two days with Mohinder. They did everything together: ate, researched, shopped, walked, slept. They even stopped by the apartment on the Upper East Side that Sylar was squatting in to pick up more of his clothes and things to bring back to Mohinder's. It was like another road trip, except the domestic version, and more importantly, with fewer lies. This time, Sylar was able to tell Mohinder real things about himself and his life, without having to worry about whether or not it made sense for a musician from Virginia Beach. And this time, Mohinder wanted to talk about a wider variety of things---not just science. He wanted to know the things he had done, the abilities he had seen, the experiences he'd had in New York.

However, the biggest difference between that trip and this new domesticity was that physically, things remained perfectly platonic. That first evening had set the tone for subsequent interaction. Every night, Sylar and Mohinder went about their bedtime rituals, adding conversation to them in order to mitigate the awkwardness. Then, Sylar would crawl into bed with Mohinder, as close to the edge of his side as possible. There would follow a pregnant pause, a banality, and then a somewhat disappointed 'goodnight' from one or the other of them. Sylar knew he was confusing Mohinder---he was playing the role of the dutiful boyfriend, but never once did anything related to the concept come up. They were in every way nothing more than friends, except for the sexual tension pulled taut between them, even when in opposite ends of a room. He told himself that he was doing this as a just torture for Mohinder's self-deceptive defiance in all the prior months of their acquaintance.

On the fourth day, Sylar and Mohinder went back to the hospital for a check-up. Although Mohinder passed all physical tests with flying colors, the prognosis was less than encouraging, with the doctors shaking and scratching their heads evasively when asked when Mohinder's memory might return. It made for a low rest of the afternoon, following an enjoyable morning of people watching and people snarking on Fifth Avenue during a leisurely two-hour walk to the hospital.

Sylar had never possessed a talent for cheering people up. Luckily, Mohinder wasn't the kind who looked to be cheered; he preferred to be productive, and that was something Sylar excelled in. They were quiet after the visit to the doctor, and so Sylar distracted his now "friend"---"boyfriend"?--- by going to Hunter and looking around the office. Somehow, getting a taste of the life he was missing but would have to go back to in a few weeks helped Mohinder to re-center his sense of purpose and remind himself that he could do this---he could do anything.

If anything, the day complicated matters for Sylar himself. Apparently, the little hints and questions of whether or not Mohinder might be recovering had been solely in Sylar's head. Moments when Mohinder remembered things about how the city or apartment worked had appeared to Sylar as recovery, but were now shown to be simply common sense. Personality quirks that could have gone either way were now proven to simply be manifestations of the mainstays of Mohinder's personality. Realizing this told Sylar that _he_ had been imagining they could go either way more than they actually could have. It was his self-protection mechanism against getting into this too deeply, his way of forcing himself to continue thinking of this as nothing more than a game.

Unfortunately, he was soon tested even further. After a sad dinner during which not even Sylar's instructive and theoretical conversation could snap Mohinder out of his desperate-seeming funk, the two watched some television. Neither of them enjoyed the hypnotic effect of mindless sounds and images, but there was nothing else to do. Both struggled to engross themselves in the show---something about a female forensic anthropologist that would have been infinitely more interesting had not the lives of the characters (why on earth did she need an FBI officer on staff?) encroached on the amount of screentime devoted to the case.

During one of commercial breaks, Mohinder tentatively rested his hand on Sylar's knee. Like the memory issues of the past few days, the movement could be interpreted in either of two ways---as an accident, or as anything but. However, before Sylar even had a chance to process it, Mohinder had leaned over, kissed him, and retreated back to his original position in order to study Sylar's reaction.

"What the hell was that?" Sylar asked. It had been too quick and unexpected to savor, so he was left with nothing but confusion.

"We're together, aren't we? And yet, in three days, you haven't touched me once."

"Because as far as you are concerned, I'm a near stranger. I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable." It wasn't entirely true, but it was the only uncomplicated explanation Sylar had to offer.

"Well, I don't feel uncomfortable." Mohinder leaned in again, and despite the way Mohinder's gaze was causing him to grow warm inside, Sylar's hesitations from the first day in the apartment returned. He decided to tell the truth---as much of it as possible without completely alienating the man. Sylar wanted to meet himself halfway, to see if Mohinder would still want him if he knew at least part of the story.

"There's something I need to tell you, Mohinder," he said slowly, pulling back. "I lied. You and I aren't actually together."

Mohinder didn't believe him. "What are you talking about?"

"We had a falling out," Sylar explained, only piecing together what he wanted to say as he was saying it. He could see the wheels spinning in Mohinder's head, but suspicion still didn't enter into it; Mohinder was processing this mystery with his usual scientific logic.

"So, we were together once, but not anymore?"

"Something like that," Sylar admitted.

"What happened?"

"We had a disagreement. I lied to you about something and you found out. You now hate me."

Mohinder pondered this. "If we broke up and I hate you, then why did you wait in the hospital for me for three days? Why have you been looking after me like this?"

"Because the feeling isn't mutual," Sylar said simply.

Mohinder was simply exasperated by what he saw as poor logic. "As far as I can tell, it isn't even one-sided. You look at me like you still want me---I've seen it. And even besides wanting you now, I clearly couldn't have sustained only negative feelings towards you. I have a bloody _photograph_ of you tucked into my underwear drawer. That has to mean something."

"I had no idea you had that photograph. Seeing you with it the other day was the first sign of hope I've had in awhile," Sylar confessed, wanting to hold onto that one sign that Mohinder was right, that _both_ of them wanted this, in both of their right minds.

"Well then, stop being an idiot," Mohinder ordered, and kissed him again. This time Sylar didn't let uncertainty stop him. Between his half-truths and the photograph and Mohinder's stubbornness, it was enough. Sylar claimed Mohinder's lips and pushed him back against the back of the couch. Mohinder moaned into Sylar's mouth, writhing and wriggling in an attempt to get even closer.

"I've done this before," Mohinder moaned, running his fingers through Sylar's hair just as he had almost a year before.

"Do you remember?" Sylar asked fearfully, hoping that now that they'd actually started, it wouldn't all come crashing down.

"No," Mohinder replied dreamily. "I can't remember what happened before, but… this feels natural, as if I know how you work."

"You do." At this, Sylar dragged Mohinder into the bedroom, pushing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him. He fisted Mohinder's shirt, pulling him away from the back of the couch and closer to his body. Feverishly, he fingered the buttons, wanting to rip them off because he was too overwrought to command his fingers to open them normally.

But Mohinder took Sylar's hand and moved it off his shirt. He leaned back and propped himself up on his elbows expectantly. When Sylar looked at him in confusion, Mohinder whispered, "No. Use your ability. Please."

It was too many dreams coming true at once. The room spun. A small part of him knew that this was all wrong, but still he used telekinesis to unbutton Mohinder's shirt buttons, one by one, and with luxurious calm. Mohinder watched his chest in awe as his shirt peeled to the sides. Sitting up again, he freed his arms so that the sleeves could slide down his arms and off his body. He gasped when his belt buckle unclasped itself and flew out of his belt-loops. On Mohinder's face was the same look of awe that had been there the first time he'd witnessed Zane's power, only much brighter. He wasn't sure why: if it was because the sexual situation heightened the awe, or if it was because it was a more interesting power. Or (Sylar barely dared to hope) because the mask he was currently wearing was much closer to his true self than 'Zane' had been.

Mohinder pulled Sylar down on top of him with such force that their noses smashed together, and they had to stop kissing to rub them gingerly. "Sorry," he said. "Want you too much. I've wanted you since the minute you walked into the hospital room."

He then pulled Sylar down again, but this time Sylar stiffened. He'd wanted Mohinder for a year, not just a few days. He'd wanted Mohinder to admit that he wanted him _still_, not for the first time. He'd wanted Mohinder to torture himself, making it only sweeter when he finally gave in. This wasn't what Sylar wanted at all. It was entirely too easy---yes, he'd been pleasant and helpful in the past few days, but Sylar no longer had a handle of _why_ Mohinder wanted him. It seemed that this was coming out of the most ordinary place imaginable: physical attraction, gratitude, camaraderie, interest in the only person with abilities Mohinder had ever met, as far as he knew. But Sylar wanted to be longed for, to be given in to, to be considered more interesting than anyone else---all on _top_ of the things Mohinder was currently attracted to. This was only half the victory, and therefore not a victory at all. His original instincts had been correct, and Sylar hated himself for giving into the same ordinary impulses and desires that Mohinder currently was. They were both better than this.

Sylar disentangled himself from Mohinder's wiry grip.

"What's wrong?" Mohinder asked, knitting his forehead in confusion.

"We can't do this." Sylar got up and began to put his clothes back on, making a strong effort not to look at Mohinder, splayed naked and glowing on the sheets.

"Why the hell not?" Mohinder, left aching and unsatisfied, had every right to be in a rage.

"You don't want this."

"We just went through this. I _do_. I don't want to be held prisoner by what you think I wanted or didn't want a few days ago. What you're doing is treating me as less of a person simply because of my memory loss. I'm still Mohinder Suresh, and I have every right to pursue what I---"

"Fine, then, _I_ don't want this," Sylar spat. "You couldn't possibly understand. If we do this, and you ever come back… if you ever remember, it'll destroy everything. You hate---hated---me before, but this would be… I'm a lot of things you claim to disapprove of, but I'm not… If we do this, it'll mean that I'm giving up hope that you will remember. And I can't. And I can't let you give up hope either. I want that man, not this one."

"So you're either saying that you are fucked up enough that you only want a man who hates you, or else there's something about me right now that you don't want. Which is it? Is this about you, or is it about me?" Mohinder asked.

Sylar thought for a second as he tied his shoelaces. "Me. I'm going to fix this, Mohinder. I should have tried before, but I liked this too much. I'll make you remember."

This was more than enough fodder to have Mohinder turn berating and belittling. "How? You aren't a doctor. You're an out-of-work telekinetic."

Sylar smiled weakly. "That's exactly the problem. If you remember all this in addition to what happened before... if want to see me, you know where to find me." And he left.

***********************************************

Mohinder woke alone the next day, and frowned upon remembering what had transpired the evening before. Later that afternoon, he went out to run some errands. While walking one of the lonelier blocks in his neighborhoods, he had a faint notion that something was heading his way, but he found himself unable to turn his head or move his body at all, and was smashed in the head. When he awoke, there was a metal pole lying beside him, and someone looming over him, asking him to please wake up.

"Gabriel?" he asked woozily, but as his vision cleared, so did everything else. The woman above him was obviously not Sylar… wait. Sylar.

"Are you ok?" the woman asked. "I think you were attacked. It must have been a group effort. I didn't see the person who hit you, but there was a tall man lurking on the other side of the street who vanished as soon as you started to come to."

"I'm alright, I think," Mohinder said as the lady helped him to his feet. "Thank you for your help."

"Is there anything I can do for you? Where can I take you?"

"No, thanks. I'm…" Mohinder trailed off as resolution came to him. "I'm on my way to the Upper East Side. To visit… someone I know."


End file.
